


Promo

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 21:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10172303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Pavel’s pleasantly interrupted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The new shuttle design is ridiculous—the washroom section isn’t properly sectioned off, the seats don’t have seatbelts, and, worst of all, the glove compartment meant to house the medkits is absurdly high up. Pavel has to stand on the tips of his toes to shove them in, and he isn’t at all happy about not getting a proper look at how they’re aligned—the captain won’t be pleased if they’re not locked neatly into place. At least, he tells himself, the captain will never actually inspect such minute detail; surely he trusts Pavel to at least accomplish that much. 

He’s barely thought it and finished pushing in the second kit before he’s enveloped in a sudden embrace—Pavel cries out in shock and tries to wheel around, but strong arms snap tight around his middle. He struggles anyway, swearing once in Russian and trying to reach the communicator stuffed in his back pocket, but then he feels a particularly chiseled jaw tuck over his shoulder, and a sensuous voice purrs into his ear, “Finished yet, yeoman?”

Pavel freezes right before melting on the spot. He should’ve known. No one else would’ve been able to sneak up on him—certainly not with how loud the metal floor of the shuttlecraft is. Pavel glances towards the front window, but the display’s been turned to an opaque black, the rest of Engineering effectively cut off. Pavel understands. It wouldn’t do for the crew to see their illustrious Captain Khan Noonien Singh seducing a mere yeoman.

Everything Khan does is akin to seduction, at least as far as Pavel’s concerned. Going slack in his captain’s firm grip, Pavel reports, “Almost, keptain.” Khan makes a ‘tsk’ing sound that makes Pavel swallow conspicuously—he _hates_ failing his captain. But to be fair, he was only sent to restock the shuttle an hour ago, and it took the majority of that just to collect the scattered supplies from the rest of Engineering. He half expects Khan to pull away and deny him _this_ as punishment for his failure, but instead, Khan’s broad fingers scrape across his red shirt. 

They scrunch it up around his hips, and then one hand presses underneath the black seam of his pants, the other slipping deftly beneath the red, and then he has Khan’s large hands dragging over his bare skin. Pavel’s breath catches and holds, spine arching all that much straighter, head subtly tilting back. Khan runs his way up to Pavel’s chest, palm pressing hard into one of Pavel’s nipples, and the other slips between his legs to cup his crotch with sudden ferocity. Pavel gasps, voice hitching, and forgets himself, accidentally bucking forward, but he can’t _help it_ —Khan always strips him of all control. Khan gives Pavel’s cock a tantalizing squeeze and hisses, “You’d best finish soon, yeoman, because I have an away mission planned to christen my newest ensign.”

Jealousy flickers through Pavel’s mind, quickly lost when Khan kneads him again. The hand at his nipple withdraws enough to tweak the bud in the center, thumb and forefinger first pinching, then rolling it around. At the same time, Khan’s fingers adjust around his shaft, wrapping slickly along the base. When Khan gives Pavel’s nipple a sudden tug, Pavel’s knees nearly buckle. It helps that Khan’s holding him up. He’s torn between thrusting wantonly into Khan’s hand and grinding back against Khan’s toned chest. In the end, he opts for helplessly mewling. 

Khan nips his ear and runs a slick tongue along the shell. Everything Khan does is pure _sex_. Pavel torpedoed his way through the Academy for _space_ , but he bagged and bargained and fought tooth and nail to serve on the _Vengeance_ for _this_. Khan says it’s his intellect—still only a fraction of his captain’s—that makes him eligible for this interest, but he hopes his body is also a part of it—it’s less likely any new ensign would have both. Khan gives Pavel a smooth stroke down to the end, pauses to thumb his foreskin, then drags back torturously slow. Pavel’s a quivering mess.

Pavel’s going to come in his pants again. He knows he’s going to. He’s ruined too many uniforms at his captain’s feet. He’d drop to his knees and beg to swallow his captain down instead, but there’s no room to move between Khan’s perfect frame and the bulkhead. He tells himself this is a good thing, that Khan’s come to him instead of waiting for new meat, and then Khan moves to tug Pavel’s other nipple and purrs in his ear, “After all, it’s high time my little yeoman finally got a promotion.”

It takes Pavel a second to understand, because Khan’s _so good_ with his hands, but then it comes crashing in: _Pavel’s_ the ensign, the one that’ll get an away mission, _finally_ , hopefully with his captain, where he can climb into Khan’s lap at the end and profess his gratitude, his devotion, his desire—

Khan tugs his shirt aside and bites into his shoulder, and Pavel cries out sharply, arcing into it, bucking forward—Khan’s pace intensifies tenfold, pumping Pavel with sudden fervor, quick and efficient and _delicious_ , while Pavel grinds his ass back against the tent in his captain’s pants, desperate to return the favour, and then Khan’s nudging Pavel’s head back and capturing his lips in an awkwardly-angled but all-consuming kiss, and Pavel bursts in utter bliss.

His enjoys a wondrous, weightless, heat-filled orgasm, while Khan continues pumping him out into his too-tight pants, and everything is perfect to the last drop. It isn’t until the wave’s passed and he’s slowly ebbing down that Khan lets go and withdraws his stained hand, leaving Pavel wet and sticky and completely satiated. 

Khan kisses his temple and muses idly, “When you’re finished here, report to my ready room for your new uniform. It seems you’ve soiled the old one.”

Then he lets go, and Pavel hits the floor like a sack of duranium. Head still spinning, he nods and moans a weak, “Yes, sir.”

He can practically hear his captain’s smirk. Then Khan’s withdrawing, and this time Pavel hears the receding footsteps, until he’s once again alone in the shuttle, with one medkit left that can’t do a thing for his melted heart.


End file.
